


quiver

by dcb_z



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Character Death, Gen, sometimes i like to think about these two yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28846692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcb_z/pseuds/dcb_z
Summary: He wondered if the Archer even felt anything as it held him there, loading another arrow from its quiver. What motivation did it have to fight him, to kill him? What drove it to strike him first? What purpose did it serve the Archer aside from meaningless bloodshed?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	quiver

He couldn’t catch a break here in the south labs. The strange, hunched-over robots, the hordes of slimes and spidery robots, the missile-launcher-weidling Dirks-- it was non-stop. Drifter was used to everywhere in this world being hostile, but even the modules themselves were murderous here. 

He’d survived, at least. Taken a few hits, bore a few scratches and tumbles, but he was here. Here with this tall, lanky, longbow-wielding, caped robot firing volley after volley of arrows at him. If it weren’t for his dashing ability, Drifter knew he’d never be able to keep up.

He’d long since given up on deflecting the arrows in this fight. The things were just too fast for him to handle and he’d already gotten himself a few nasty wounds in his attempts. All he could do was dodge, shoot, dodge, shoot, dash in as the Archer reloaded to--

Something blew up beneath his foot, sending him careening to the side. Drifter’s helmet smacked against the floor, filling his head with a ringing from the metal-on-metal impact. He rolled, trying to let the momentum carry his body until he was face down and could pick himself back up quickly, but something sharp caught him in the shoulder once, twice--

Drifter stopped on his back, clutching his shoulder and sucking in his breath through his teeth. The arrows had gone deep. He gripped them, gritting his teeth, and started to yank them out, but he barely made any progress before he felt a heavy foot press down hard against his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

His gun and his hardlight sword were far from his reach. All Drifter could do was struggle to breathe as he stared daggers up at the Archer’s glowing eye. The machine’s foot was far too heavy for him to move off of himself (not that he even had any leverage to do that, anyways) and there was no way he’d be able to wriggle free from this pin.

What was that expression on this faceless automaton’s visage? He wondered if the Archer even felt anything as it held him there, loading another arrow from its quiver. What motivation did it have to fight him, to kill him? What drove it to strike him first? What purpose did it serve the Archer aside from meaningless bloodshed?

Drifter almost found it funny. He’d come all this way, survived all that he had, won every fight thus far, only to end up like this: tripping over his own feet and getting stepped on by a robot. At least, he might have found it funny, if he weren’t so focused on that arrow being drawn back on its bow, those robotic fingers tensing around its weapon, before it--

**Author's Note:**

> this idea was spinning around like a child on a merry-go-round in my brain for half of my drive back to my college apartment and i needed to spit it out before it started having children so here you go


End file.
